


Armor

by dimtraces



Series: The blue man [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Force Ghost Anakin Skywalker, Force-Sensitive Finn, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7450888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimtraces/pseuds/dimtraces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly thirty-eight days after the visor of his helmet starts giving him a pummelling headache, FN-2187 snaps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Armor

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: physical child abuse mentioned. General child abuse as well--this is about the First Order after all.

“Careful, young one”, the blue man says. He stalks into the empty side corridor where FN-2187 is hiding, and crouches down beside the white plasteel helmet.

The helmet that, five seconds ago, had rested on FN-2187’s head.

(The blue man kneels down on the floor then, next to the helmet.)

The helmet that’s been pushing FN-2187’s head to the floor a little more every day, caging him in. Always too warm even though it’s climate-regulated. Swallowing the whimpers he makes when someone hits him and amplifying his groans. Taking away the accidental brush of a shoulder in the corridors, and the all-pervading smell of the cleaning agents, and the gentle stroke of the air-conditioning in his hair. Obscuring his view of his brothers and sisters next to him when they’re training in formation—the helmet that makes it useless to crane his head to capture the smiles they will never direct his way, because all he’ll see will be more helmets.

(The blue man’s hands dwarf the helmet as he grabs for it. They slip through it. He swears.)

The helmet with the visor that’s been flickering white light into his left eye, making his head pound, ever since he was thrown into the wall by Lieutenant Phasma when he wasn’t sufficiently above-average in a sparring exercise, and that he hasn’t yet dared bring to the arms commissioner to replace. It’s only been five weeks and three days. He can bear five weeks of battering headache. When he’d finally graduated to his current weight class six months ago and been presented with his first stormtrooper armor, they’d been adamant that these suits of armor are their very existence, and that there’ll be punishment when they get damaged. Unless the damage was unavoidable. Being thrown into a wall for not being good enough isn’t unavoidable, FN-2187 knows. He must just be _better_.

(The blue man crouches down even lower, belly to the floor.)

The helmet that he has to wear, barring the quarter-hours set aside for food and the five hours of rest per day. That he’ll have to wear, until his head has grown enough to burst through its confines, and even then, the only thing that’s waiting for him is another, slightly bigger, helmet.

(The blue man peers inside it, frowning, slipping his hand and then his head into the cavity FN-2187’s face left behind.)

The helmet that makes FN-2187 and his brothers and sisters nothing but lined-up neatly-numbered tools for the _masters_ to use, the voice in his head whispers, the voice that appeared one and a half years ago when he first met the blue man. The helmet that he never chose, that doesn’t let him die. The helmet that keeps him alone and separate and visible and weak and _hurts_.

(“Aha,” the blue man exclaims.)

The helmet that, in a fit of despair, FN-2187 had hurled against—

He follows the trajectory the helmet had taken with his eyes and catches sight of something in the polished durachrome wall-panel. A face glistening with sweat, its eyes blown and white with fear.

It looks strange now.

Wrong.

It’s been months since FN-2187’s seen it instead of the customary white armor, and he’s almost forgotten what it looks like.

Lieutenant Phasma would have been proud of him, he thinks. She always says that in order for them to work together, as a team, they have to forget their crude differences. They are Stormtroopers. They need to set aside their selfish desires—their selves—and be united, and work for the good of society as a whole…

Well, Phasma would have been proud of him, a minute ago, but here FN-2187 is, head bare and panting, and there’s a dent in the durachrome wall, and the helmet…

If he could not present it to the armory after his punishment, he certainly can’t—

There’s a dent in the durachrome wall. There hadn’t been a dent in the training room wall, five weeks ago. He can live with the white strobe-light headache, he can, and he’ll just have to grow faster so he’ll be given a new one, but what if he made it worse, what if it’s sound this time or if the lens has gone black. He needs to be able to see to remain at the top of his age group, to make Phasma proud. She had almost smiled at him once, when he’d managed to hit the bulls-eye with all of his blaster shots. But now, she’ll be disappointed, and angry—

“Nothing appears to be permanently broken,” the blue man interrupts, head still bowed over the helmet. “Excepting a loose contact in the display. There, this little latch.”

Cautiously FN-2187 sits down next to him, and on the man’s prompting, pries it open.

“This wire there—do you see?” the blue man asks. “Just push a little bit. Ideally, we’d have tools, but it’ll hold.” He frowns, and taps—taps _through_ —the helmet. “They should really teach you basic mechanics. How else will you be performing maintenance? What if—someone’s approaching.”

FN-2187 startles, but the blue man just pushes at his arm, until he slips the helmet over his head by himself.

And then, he’s gone.

Under the helmet, FN-2187’s nose itches. For a moment, he’s caught with incredible resentment at his invisible friend, who can come and go as he pleases.

The blue man is free.

No-one would ever make _him_ wear a mask.

**Author's Note:**

> Do you ever think about Finn taking off his helmet to have a panic attack in TFA and then imagine tiny baby stormtrooper Finn wanting it off and not being allowed and cry?
> 
> Originally I didn't plan to continue The blue man, just to have a stand-alone story that could have happened in canon. But then I had so much fun, and some people liked the fic, and it turns out I have a several more ideas for scenes, and Finn & Anakin Skywalker is literally my own private tag right now. Wouldn't want to leave that empty, right?
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
